Secrets
by LuxKen27
Summary: When Stacy learns of a secret from Ryan's past, it threatens to shatter their relationship for good. Divergence from Season 5. A giftfic for KeB, who gave me the 50th review for Stacy in Bloom. COMPLETE with deleted scenes!
1. Secrets

Title: Secrets

Author: LuxKen27

Universe: Canon divergence

Genre: Angst/Romance

Rating: Y

Warning: Language, innuendo

Word Count: 8,112

Summary: When Stacy learns of a secret from Ryan's past, it threatens to shatter their relationship for good.

_Author's Note:_ This story was written for KeB, who left me lucky review #50 for _Stacy in Bloom_. She requested angsty romance for her favorite pairing (and mine!) set sometime after the show's canon run. This was a challenge that brought me somewhat out of my comfort zone, so I really hope it delivers for you! Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and inspiring me =)

This story is _**not**_ part of my _Stacy in Bloom_ universe. Further notes can be found at my Dreamwidth and/or LiveJournal, which is linked in my profile.

**DISCLAIMER: **The _Kids Incorporated_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1984 – 1993 Thomas Lynch/Gary Biller/MGM Television/20th Century Fox Home Entertainment/Disney Channel. Any resemblance to any person currently living or deceased is unintended (aka, I am writing about the _characters_, not the _actors_ who portray them). No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

><p>Stacy pushed aside an entire rack of clothes in her sister's closet. <em>Where is it?<em> she wondered, biting her lip as she stooped down to search the shelves below, picking through sweaters, vests, and cardigans.

The sound of the door opening startled her, and she turned swiftly, only to melt with relief when she spotted her sister in the doorway. "Renee!" she greeted her urgently. "Have you seen my new tennis skirt?"

Renee arched a brow as she pushed further into her dorm room. "Since when do you play tennis?" she asked her sister, surveying the piles of clothes strewn about with a critical eye. "And how can you find anything in this mess? What did you do, bring your whole closet?"

Stacy frowned at Renee. "No," she huffed. "You know I keep some stuff here so I don't have to lug my entire wardrobe back and forth." She turned her attention back to the clothes, absently crossing her arms over her chest.

Renee shrugged. "You're here practically every weekend," she noted. "You might as well save yourself the time and effort of packing ten suitcases to bring every time."

If Stacy heard the comment, she didn't acknowledge it. "Listen," she said instead, "I bought the skirt a couple of weeks ago and left it here – are you _sure_ you haven't seen it? I really wanted to wear it tonight."

Renee smiled as she dropped her books on her desk. "I'm sure, Stace," she reiterated. "And it's just a skirt – what does it matter?"

Stacy rolled her eyes. "It _matters_, okay?" she replied crossly. "Will you help me look for it, at least?"

She tacitly ignored Renee's put-upon sigh as she continued to pick through the mountain of clothes. She'd been arranging this outfit in her head for the last two weeks, tweaking each and every aspect of it, right down to her makeup and accessories. She would be damned if she was going to let her plans fall through now, when the fateful night she'd been so anxious for had finally arrived.

"Is this it?" Renee asked, holding up a short, white, pleated skirt with a band of contrasting navy and crimson piping at the waist.

Stacy grinned. "Yes!" she cried, annoyance forgotten as she crossed the small space and grabbed it. "Oh, thank you, Renee! You've saved my life!" She sprinted over to her sister's bed, where she'd laid out of the rest of the outfit, and slipped into the bathroom to change. From the corner of her eye, she saw Renee shaking her head ruefully as she lifted herself from the floor and drifted over to her desk.

_I love my sister_, Stacy thought, shedding the lightweight robe she was wearing, _but she has no sense of style._ She wrinkled her nose as she ran through a mental inventory of her sister's wardrobe – lots of A-line wool skirts and scratchy cotton blend sweaters. Frankly, she thought Renee should've been grateful for all of the purchases she'd stashed here, cute little mix-and-match tops and pants and skirts, along with a couple of pairs of trendy shoes. Stacy's favorite hobby was shopping, and she was very generous with her finds – she wouldn't have minded in the least if her sister decided to borrow some of her clothes. After all, it was only fair, especially considering how limited Renee's closet space was.

Stacy smiled as she slipped into the bright white skirt, taking her time to adjust it so that the contrast piping rested squarely on her hips. It had been hard for her when Renee had moved away to college, but she was grateful for two things: one, that her sister had the foresight to attend the very prestigious Columbia University, located near the heart of New York City; and two, that her parents allowed her to visit as often as she wanted. Okay, so it wasn't like her family lived all that far away – just over the bridge in Brooklyn – but still, it was the thought that counted, and it gave her the independence she craved. She had taken advantage of both, visiting as often as the university would allow, and spending quite a bit of her time in the city seeking out the latest fashions.

Of course, that wasn't her _only_ reason for hanging around the university as much as she did.

Stacy picked up her eyebrow pencil and leaned forward, gazing intently at her reflection in the mirror. She was so focused on her task that she didn't even notice when Renee came to stand in the slightly ajar door, her arms full of discarded clothes.

"If I didn't know better," Renee mused aloud, watching her sister with no small amount of wry amusement, "I'd think the only reason you ever came to visit me was to see your boyfriend."

Stacy glanced at her in the mirror. "Oh, you know that's not true," she replied with a smile. "We do lots of things together!" Still, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as Renee shrugged and drifted away, continuing to pick up errant accessories. It wasn't the first time her sister had expressed such a sentiment, and there was more truth in her words than Stacy liked to admit.

Renee wasn't the only person at Columbia that Stacy had a connection to – her boyfriend, Ryan, was also a student there.

Stacy picked up her case of eye shadow, contemplating its contents before choosing a smoky gray shade. She smiled as her thoughts shifted to her boyfriend. Could she help it if she wanted to spend every waking moment of the day with him? He was gorgeous, thoughtful, attentive, and incredibly romantic – and they'd grown extremely close over the course of the last few months. They had been friendly since junior high, when Ryan moved to town and joined the house band at the P*lace, but at some point over the last year, they had suddenly discovered each other. He'd asked her out in the spring, and they had been nearly inseparable ever since.

Whenever she thought of him now, it was hard for her to imagine there was ever a time that she barely took notice of him, or thought him merely a protective, brotherly figure. Of course, she considered as she reached into her makeup kit and pulled out her lipsticks, it probably would've been weird to feel the way she did about him now when she was only ten. They had been friends then, but now, six years later?

She was ready for him to become so much more.

Stacy applied the finishing touches to her makeup and took a step back, gazing at her reflection with a critical eye. Satisfied that her makeup looked perfect, she reached for the rest of her outfit. She carefully pulled a black spaghetti-strap tank top over her head, taking a moment to adjust the straps on her shoulders, before layering on a navy and crimson gingham-print flannel shirt to complete the look. Butterflies filled her stomach and an excited smile played at the corners of her lips as she tousled her hair, running her fingers through her honey-blonde locks until the curls relaxed into waves. Tonight was a very important night, and she wanted to look perfect. She wanted to _be_ perfect, not only for herself, but for him.

She loved him, of that she was very sure. She loved everything about him, from his quirky sense of style, to his endless esoteric interests, to his sometimes sarcastic sense of humor. She loved the way he made her feel: like she was smart, like she was pretty, like she was someone special and worthy of taking up so much of his time. She loved the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, and most especially, the way he touched her – every look, every word, every caress so intimate and intense.

She sent a covert glance at the still ajar bathroom door before approaching the mirror again, leaning almost as close as she had before, when she was still working on her makeup. Her eyes lingered on her reflection, but instead of inspecting it for imperfections, she was trying to commit it to memory. _This is the last time I'll see myself like this_, she reminded herself, clutching the lip of the counter as anticipation shimmered down her spine. _When I wake up tomorrow morning, I'll no longer be a virgin._

"So, where are you two going?" called Renee from the vicinity of her desk. Her voice sounded thin and far away, like it was meandering through a long tunnel.

"Hmm?" Stacy mumbled, fluffing her hair. She wasn't paying attention to her sister, too busy wondering if she would look any different, or act any different, or only just _feel_ different. A couple of the girls at school had told her that she'd never feel the same after having sex for the first time, but…come to think of it, they'd neglected to mention whether it would a 'good' different or a 'bad' different.

Stacy frowned. How could it be 'bad' different?

"On your date," Renee replied, moving closer to the bathroom door. "Where is he taking you on your date?" She arched a brow as she watched her sister preen, clearly feeling a bit hurt that Stacy was off in her own little world.

"Oh, I don't know," Stacy replied breezily, touching up her lip gloss.

"You don't know?" Renee echoed. "So, you tore my room apart in order to make sure you were wearing that very specific outfit, and you don't even know what you're doing?"

"Now, I didn't say _that_," Stacy responded cheekily, turning to face her sister.

Renee furrowed her brow. "What's going on, Stacy?" she queried, tightening the brace of her arms across her chest.

"Don't look so _worried_, Renee," Stacy teased, unable to hide her smile as she pressed past her sister. "It's nothing bad, I promise. I'm sure we're not going to rob a liquor store or anything. We just…didn't make very specific plans." She settled herself in the armchair next to Renee's bed, pulling on her socks and a pair of cute red athletic shoes.

Renee studied her sister intently as she tied her laces. "You're keeping something from me," she finally surmised. "What is it?" She sat in her desk chair. "You know you can tell me anything, Stace."

"I know," Stacy replied, sitting back in her seat. "It's just…"

"What?" Renee prodded, leaning forward, looking interested.

Stacy blushed, not quite comfortable with the idea of telling her sister such an intimate secret, but, at the same time, she figured Renee had the right to know why she wouldn't be coming back to her room that night.

"Tonight's the night," she announced, drawing her eyes back to meet her sister's gaze.

A question formed on Renee's lips, but quickly died away when she realized what Stacy was hinting at. Her eyes widened. "Are you sure, Stace? You two have only been going out for a couple of months – "

"_Six_ months," Stacy hastily corrected her, "and we've liked it each for a _lot_ longer than that." She shrugged. "Besides, it's not like I haven't spent the night with him before."

"_What?_" Renee screeched, bolting upright out of her seat.

Stacy flushed. "Relax, will you?" she pleaded, reaching for her sister's hands. "I just – _stayed_ with him one night. Our date ran late, and I didn't want to take the last train home. We slept in the same bed, that's all." _Not that we weren't tempted to do more_, she amended silently. "But now…"

"When was this?" Renee demanded to know, not quite able to move past this stunning revelation.

"Two weeks ago," Stacy admitted, "and before you ask – I told Mom and Dad I stayed with you, so please don't tell them otherwise, okay?" She looked up at her sister with her best puppy dog eyes. "_Please_, big sis?"

Renee managed a small smile. "All right," she agreed with a sigh, sinking back down into her desk chair. She gripped her sister's hands. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, it's a huge decision to make, and you're still so young… "

Stacy bristled. "I'm sixteen years old," she replied defiantly. "You can't tell me what to do."

"I realize that," Renee said dryly. "But I _am_ your older sister, and I'm asking you – please, don't be stupid about it, okay? You may think you love him, but use protection."

Stacy grinned. "I promise," she replied, impulsively throwing her arms around Renee. She knew her sister didn't understand or necessarily approve, but she had given her blessing, and that was good enough. "Thanks, Renee," she whispered. "You're the best sister ever!"

.xxxxx.

Stacy met Ryan shortly after six, and it didn't take the two of them long to become reacquainted with each other, or to decide what they wanted to do that evening. She relished the feeling of having his arms around her once more – two weeks apart had obviously been two too many – and was all too happy to agree to his suggestion of sushi and karaoke. They took the subway from campus to the Upper West Side, disembarking on Columbus Circle. A couple of streets over, Ryan pointed out a little hole-in-the-wall Japanese restaurant, one with a rocking karaoke bar on the second floor. Stacy could hear the faint sounds of music already emanating from the building, and she smiled.

"Looks good to me," she said, exhaling sharply as he pressed a fleeting kiss just below her ear. She tightened her grip on his hand, leaning into him slightly as her knees began to falter.

"Then let's go," he whispered in response, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her into the building. She was surprised when they didn't stop in the restaurant, instead immediately heading upstairs. "We can order from the menu up here," he informed her, "and they'll just bring it up. This place is great."

Stacy looked at him curiously. "Have you been here before?" she asked.

He merely smiled, pushing open the door to the already noise-filled room. They made their way over to the bar, where the bartender greeted him by name. "Ryan, so good to see you again!" the tall, slim man said. He immediately set out two napkins, bringing two glasses over to place upon them. "Will you be singing for us tonight?"

"Of course," Ryan replied with a grin, settling on one of the stools and reaching for his wallet.

Stacy sat beside him, feeling a little bewildered as she watched him fill out a slip of paper and hand it over, along with a dollar. They'd been going out for six months now, but he'd never brought her here before. She also knew that he didn't sing much anymore, focusing most of his musical talent on writing compositions these days. And yet, the bartender not only knew his name, but also looked inordinately pleased at the idea of him performing.

_Chill out_, Stacy thought, giving herself a firm shake. _It doesn't mean anything_.

Her silent reprimand did nothing for the butterflies in her stomach, however; they broke free and rose, fluttering in her chest. She relaxed a little when Ryan turned to her, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her close once more. "How about it, Stace?" he asked.

"W-what?" she mumbled, flushing lightly as she struggled to focus her attention on him.

He smiled, leaning forward slightly. "Do you want some sake?" he repeated patiently, indicating her glass.

"Sure," she managed, watching as the bartender filled the light-colored liquid to the top.

"So," the man began conversationally as Ryan handed Stacy a menu, "who is your lovely companion?"

"My girlfriend," Ryan replied, the sound of his voice pouring over Stacy like molten honey. His hand was warm on her waist, his fingers already sliding under the waistband of her skirt, and he gave her a little squeeze. She glanced over at him from behind her lashes, giving him a small, knowing, yet covert smile.

"Ahhh," the man nodded knowingly. "Many hearts will be broken on this night."

Stacy's heart skipped a beat.

The bartender quickly wrote down their order and turned to his next customer, who had taken a seat further along the bar. Ryan turned to Stacy, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear with his free hand. "Do you want to stay here, or move to a table?" he asked, indicating the somewhat cluttered room to their right. In the front of the cramped space was the stage, well equipped with several microphones, speakers, a prompter, and a well-worn book of song lyrics. Already there was a queue for the karaoke, with an older man warbling away to a classic country western song at present.

Stacy glanced around, her eyes lighting up when she noticed tablecloths draped over the tables. "Table," she decided immediately, sensing all of the possibilities.

"I like the way you think," Ryan murmured, signaling for a refill of his sake before the two wandered towards one of the tables near the back. They settled themselves side by side on the leatherette bench seat, and he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close as they waited for their dinner.

Moving to a table didn't stop the crowd of regulars from wanting to greet Ryan, however. Even after their food had arrived from the restaurant downstairs, it seemed like there was an endless parade of people stopping by, continually drawing his attention away from her with hearty slaps on the back or ill-timed jokes about the happy drunks singing onstage. The only indication Stacy had that Ryan was still aware of her presence at all was his hand resting on her thigh, just below the hemline of her skirt.

It was easy to let her mind wander under such circumstances, and she found that her thoughts were moving in only one direction: forward. She picked at her food, her stomach twisting into a nervous knot. What would it be like, later that night, when they were finally alone? Had he planned anything special, like candles or rose petals? She furrowed her brow. Unlike her sister, who shared a suite with a couple of other girls in the high rise East Campus building, Ryan lived in the corridor-style McBain dorm, sharing a double room with one other guy. She'd met his roommate a few times; he was a pretty nice guy, and generally considerate of their relationship, but his presence had thwarted their plans on more than one occasion.

She thought back to their last date, two weeks ago. They'd gone to a play on campus, some production that his roommate had a part in, though she couldn't really recall most of the details – it was pretty bad, even by student theater standards. What she _did_ remember, however, was what happened afterwards – she and Ryan had gone to the wrap party as guests of his roommate, and they'd actually had a good time, staying far longer than they meant to. Stacy wasn't staying on campus that weekend, planning instead to simply take the train back home at the end of the evening, but by the time they left, she knew that she'd already blown her curfew by a long shot. She didn't feel comfortable taking the last train of the night back to Brooklyn by herself, so when Ryan invited her to stay with him instead, she immediately said yes…not that he had to do much in the way of convincing her.

By the time they made it back to his dorm, they found themselves surprisingly alone in his room – but Stacy was a bit too tired and anxious about the idea of facing her parents' wrath the next morning to take advantage of the situation. The next morning, however, was a completely different story – she'd never felt closer to him than she did when she woke up, still wrapped in his arms, his head on her shoulder, their bodies nestled intimately together. He stirred awake shortly after her, opening his eyes and greeting her with a smile, then with a kiss. It had seemed completely natural to shift positions slightly as their kisses deepened; she twined her arms around his neck, their bodies moving fluidly together as he rolled over on his back.

It was only then that either of them realized his roommate had returned at some point during the night, and was zonked out on his own bed a few feet away, his arms splayed out over the ends of the mattress. His presence completely killed the mood, with each of them becoming hyperaware of their unknowing audience.

"Penny for your thoughts," Ryan offered, breaking into Stacy's memories, the hand on her leg stroking her skin in a soft caress.

She glanced at him, taking in the curious cast of his expression, but focusing on the luminous depths of his emerald green eyes. Sometimes she thought he could see straight through her, so penetrating was his gaze. The knot in her stomach deepened into a curl of heat at her core. "I was just thinking about how much I love you," she replied, leaning into him.

He smiled. "Oh?" he mused, turning towards her, his hand rising to circle her waist and draw her ever closer. "Well, that's worth more than a few pennies to me."

Anticipation swirled through her as he closed the gap between them, but just as she felt the whisper of his breath on her lips, he pulled away with a soft curse.

_What?_ Stacy thought, cracking her eyes open.

"Sorry," Ryan said ruefully, as if he'd read her mind. He nodded toward the stage. "I'm up."

"Oh." Stacy tried not to feel disappointed as he stood up, but she must not have looked too convincing, for he leaned down just far enough to whisper one more thing before leaving:

"_This is for you – I think you'll like it."_

Curiosity swept through her as she settled back in her seat, pondering his cryptic words as she watched him take to the stage, much to the apparent delight of the crowd. When the first strains of the song he'd chosen began blaring from the speakers, she couldn't help but laugh. _Of course,_ she thought to herself, _of course he'd pick this!_

"I was born in Little Rock / had a childhood sweetheart," he began, gripping one of the microphones with both hands and leaning into the stand. "We were always hand in hand..."

He'd chosen one of her favorites, and was playing with the lyrics accordingly.

"I wore high top shoes and shirt tails / Stacy was in pigtails," he continued. "I knew I loved her even then…"

He smiled then, the influence of his sake intake apparent in its silliness. "You know, her papa disapproved it," he crooned, "her mama boo-hooed it / but I told them time and time again / I was made to love her, worship and adore her / hey, hey, hey…"

There was a surge of approval from the audience as he began to really dig into the song, unable to escape the effervescent groove of the infamous James Jamerson bassline. As she watched him, Stacy found it hard to believe he'd ever given up performing – it was very obviously in his blood. The raucous crowd, who had heretofore been heckling the other singers who dared climb up on stage, were now resting squarely in the palm of his hand; a couple of the older patrons were even screaming the lyrics along with him, especially when he welcomed audience participation.

And yet, at the same time, he had the ability to make her feel like he was serenading her, like the rest of the world had melted away and it was just the two of them, the way his eyes lingered on her the entire time, the feeling he put into the words as he approached the climax of the song.

"My baby loves me / my baby needs me," he continued, "And I know I ain't going nowhere…"

He pulled the microphone from its stand and made his way down the side steps of the stage, still singing full-blast, and the surprised audience parted ways for him without protest. Stacy's heart leapt in her chest when she realized he was walking towards her, holding out his hand to take hers.

"Even if the mountain tumbles / if this whole world crumbles / by your side, I'll still be standing there," he sang, giving her hand a warm squeeze. "I was made to live for you / Build my whole world around you…"

She felt her anxiety and nervousness melting away under the intensity of his loving gaze, only to have it followed by a sharp pang of disappointment when he let her go, moving back to the stage as the song wound down to a close. She barely heard the audience's reaction, even though he'd earned a standing ovation, so focused was she on the lingering suggestiveness of the song, and the way it had only stoked the fire that burned for him inside her.

As easily as the audience had parted for him before, they crowded around him now, as nearly everyone in the cramped space flocked forward, ready to show their appreciation for his performance. He patiently pushed through the mob, soaking in the attention, giving just as much silliness as he received, accepting the back slaps, high-fives, and shots of sake that were shoved at him in thanks.

Stacy frowned a little when she realized most of those surrounding him were women. She pushed to her feet, ready to round the table and make her claim on him, when someone else beat her to the punch. Stacy's stomach dropped as she watched a tall, slim girl drape herself over Ryan, chatting and smiling and giggling at him with far more familiarity than a chance meeting would imply.

At first, Ryan ignored her, but then the girl threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body intimately into his, and his entire expression changed, to one of surprise and pleasure. Stacy felt rooted to the floor, horror washing over her in waves as he swept the girl into a friendly embrace, returning her chatter with enthusiasm. He let her go soon enough, but she didn't reciprocate, her arms locked in place on his shoulders, her smile turning coy as she lowered her eyelashes.

Stacy found her legs and pressed forward, unsure whether to be angry or afraid that this girl had captured her boyfriend's attention. Just as she reached their side, she realized how flirtatious a turn their conversation had taken.

"Any time you want me," the girl purred, "you know where to find me."

Stacy flushed, feeling her blood boil as she took hold of Ryan's arm.

"Who's this?" she demanded without preamble, shocked at the strength of the anger in her own voice. But then, she hardly felt like being cordial to the one person who seemed bound and determined to ruin her evening.

Her heated words drew both Ryan's attention and the other girl's. "Who are _you_?" she sneered, looking down her nose at Stacy. "And how did you even get into this place? Aren't you a little _young_ to be sneaking into bars?"

Ryan, sensing the growing tide of animosity, quickly separated the two. "Actually, she's with me," he informed the mystery girl, shrugging out of her hold and covering Stacy's hand at his elbow. He granted Stacy a small smile before directing another comment at the girl. "I'll see you around, okay?"

The girl frowned, obviously unhappy at having her offer rejected. "All right," she sighed. "Sooner, rather than later, yeah?"

Ryan had the good grace not to respond, instead turning to face his girlfriend and her angry, hurt glare. "C'mon," he urged. "Let's get out of here."

Stacy didn't object, only reaching out to grab her purse as they passed by the table for a final time. They pushed through the virtual sea of humanity that filled the bar area; by the time they made it to the stairs and out into the cool, fresh air of the night, she felt like she'd been through the wringer – and her anger over the situation had only worsened.

"Who was that?" she asked again, the tone of her voice more even and controlled, now that they were alone. Her back was ramrod straight as she stood beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Ryan looked at her, his eyes sharp and assessing in spite of the fact that he'd had a few drinks. "Her name's Melissa," he finally said, rocking back on his heels.

His words hung heavily in the air between them. Stacy held his gaze, sensing a challenge in his statement. "Do you _know_ her?" she pressed, half-knowing, half-dreading what the answer would be.

He shrugged. "We used to go out," he admitted, his hands coming to rest on his hips.

Stacy nodded slowly, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she felt a sob welling up in her chest. "Is that all you did with her?" she whispered, averting her eyes from his, as if it was too hard to even look at him while asking such a question.

"Excuse me?" he sputtered incredulously.

She gathered every shred of her courage in order to meet his gaze once more, even though she felt like her knees were about to give out from under her. He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the fleet of turbulent emotions that played so plainly across her features, but somehow, his silence only made her feel worse.

Like she was prying. Like she was demanding information she had no right to.

But didn't she?

"Look, Stace, why does it matter?" he finally asked. "I'm not interested in doing anything else with her."

"Does she know that?" she muttered, tightening the brace of her arms. Her chest felt tight and heavy, and it was becoming progressively harder for her to breathe without wanting to cry.

Ryan's features hardened imperceptibly. "Do I look like I care?" he said carelessly, tugging his shoulders into a half-shrug.

_You did back there_, she thought, recalling just how animated he'd been when he realized it was Melissa who had stopped him. It was enough to break the heaviness in her chest, her shoulders shaking with fury and fear and insecurity as tears slipped unbidden from the corners of her eyes.

"I can't believe you kept this from me," she choked out, swiping angrily at her cheeks.

"Stacy," he tried, stepping closer to her and opening his arms. She was having none of it, however, and quickly pushed out of his embrace. Suddenly, she _had_ to know – the depth and breadth of the corner of his life, this part of himself he'd kept hidden from her. Here she was, ready to give all of herself to him, and only now was she finding out that maybe she didn't even know him at all.

"How many girls have you slept with?" she blurted out, a flush rising to heat her cheeks. She didn't even like to _think_ about him being intimate with anyone else, especially not after the way he'd held her, kissed her, caressed her.

Ryan looked at her for a long moment, his gaze assessing as he considered his words carefully. "You don't want to ask me that," he finally replied. "You're not going to like the answer."

Another sob shook her shoulders. "Why not?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"Because it's not zero!" he burst out. He paused, closing his eyes and trying to reign in his own temper. "Look, Stacy," he continued, his tone overly patient and nearing condescension, "I realize you're anxious, or nervous, or whatever, but digging into my past is _not_ going to help anything."

She shook her head, refusing to heed the warning note in his voice. She was going to get the truth out of him, even if she had to drag it out. "Have you ever slept with Melissa?" she persisted stubbornly.

It was at that moment that she realized Ryan had lost all patience with her. "Yes," he replied coldly, sarcastically. "Yes, I have. Many times, in fact. Do you want details – times, locations, positions?"

She was truly inconsolable now, crying so hard she could barely think straight, his words like razor sharp daggers in her heart. "I just want you to leave me alone," she whispered between sobs.

He heaved a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Stacy, I – "

"No!" she shouted, quelling the overwhelming urge to shove him. As it was, she took a step back, anything to put more space between them. "I can't believe I ever wanted to sleep with you."

He threw his hands in the air. "If that's the way you feel, fine," he said irritably, "but you don't have to act like a child about it. Let's not forget, this _was_ your idea."

She exhaled sharply, feeling as though he'd just punched her in the gut. "So you mean you don't even want me?" she breathed, turning disbelieving eyes up at him, but finding herself unable to meet his gaze.

"Stacy, don't be stupid," he replied abruptly.

She didn't feel stupid – she felt totally humiliated. Had their entire relationship been a nothing but a sham? Was this how he really felt about her? Could he _really_ make a mockery out of everything she held dear – like that song – because he felt, what, _sorry_ for her?

"You know what?" she managed, taking a deep breath, feeling the resolve of her anger and the adrenaline suddenly coursing through her. "Why don't I just save us both a lot of time and trouble? You don't want to have sex with me, and I don't want to have anything to do with you."

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and stormed off, breaking into a run after she turned the corner, hoping against hope that she would make it back to the subway station before her tears overtook her again.

.xxxxx.

"Stacy!" called her mother, her voice muffled by the walls that separated them. Her parents were in the family room of their apartment, while she relaxed two doors down in her bedroom. "Phone!"

"Who is it?" Stacy called back, her eyes not leaving the page of the magazine she was flipping through.

"It's Ryan, honey!" came the response.

Stacy's breath caught in her chest, her heart beginning to beat a staccato rhythm against her ribs. She scrambled into a sitting position on her bed, letting her magazine slide to the floor, forgotten. "I-I'll take it in here, Mom!" she replied, rushing out the door and settling herself by the extension in her parents' bedroom.

She picked up the receiver with a shaky hand. "Hello?" she said uncertainly.

_Click._ For a moment, she was afraid he'd hung up on her.

"Hey, Stace," Ryan greeted her a moment later, his tone warm, if cordial.

Her entire body went weak at the sound of his voice. It had been almost a week since their fight, and she'd had plenty of time to process and digest everything that had happened in the interim. She'd fled back to her sister's room in tears that night, spilling the story out as fast as she could comprehensively tell it, needing comfort and assurance and _some other way to feel_, besides humiliated. Renee had complied, lending her a sympathetic ear (and not hesitating to throw in a few barbs at Ryan's expense for good measure), but at the same time, it was impossible for her to turn off her practicality.

"You know I'm not Ryan's biggest fan," Rene had said, "but as much as I hate to admit it, he was right about one thing." When Stacy had looked at her questioningly, she explained: "There's no way he could've answered your questions to your satisfaction. Would you have preferred that he lie to you instead? I think he's a jerk, yes, but the real jerk move here would've been telling you what you wanted to hear just so you'd have sex with him."

Her reasoning had definitely given Stacy pause, but after a sleepless night tossing and turning on Renee's floor, replaying the agony of that final, nasty conversation, her mind was made up – she wanted to take the first train back home to Brooklyn and wallow in her misery. She wasn't sure she could ever face him again – or if she even wanted to.

She didn't know what that meant for their relationship, and for the first couple of days, she didn't really care. She avoided her friends at school, skipped rehearsals with the band, and cowered in her room after dinner. She cried more tears than she ever thought she had, sorry for what she said, what _he_ said, and how she'd stormed away from him. She could never quite bring herself to regret anything else about their relationship, except for its possible end. A hollow ache had settled in her chest, replacing her endless tears with numbness, and she wondered – would she ever be able to move past this?

Did she even want to try?

"Are you still there?" Ryan asked, breaking into Stacy's racing thoughts.

"Yes," she assured him. "I'm sorry…I just – you're still speaking to me?"

He chuckled lightly. "I'd like to," he replied, an almost plaintive note in his voice. "I'd _really_ like to talk to you – but what I have to say, I'd rather say in person. Would you be willing to meet me tomorrow, maybe for breakfast at the Deluxe?"

She clutched the phone a bit tighter. "Okay," she hedged, trying not to read something into his words that wasn't there.

"Great," he breathed, and she could almost picture his relieved smile. "I'll see you then."

"See you," she echoed, holding the phone to her ear until he hung up. Her heart was beating in her throat now, the hollow ache in her chest burning at the idea of seeing him face-to-face. What did he want to tell her? That he was sorry – or that they were finished?

She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the receiver to her chest, hoping mightily for the former.

She spent another sleepless night tossing and turning following that phone conversation, any myriad of possible outcomes to their meeting bombarding her brain. Even in her dreams, she'd felt the heaviness of tears, as if the entire relationship had slipped from her grasp and there was nothing she could do about it.

Stacy woke up the next morning feeling pessimistic.

She went through the motions of showering and dressing, throwing on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. She pulled her hair back in a hasty ponytail, not even bothering with her makeup. Not until she was well on her way into the city did she decide this was probably a bad move. If she wanted to have any chance of saving her relationship, she probably should've put some effort into her appearance, but by that point, it was too late.

When she stepped out onto the platform at the Columbia University station, it took her five minutes to convince herself not to cry.

Instead, she somehow made it to street level, walking the short distance to the brightly colored Deluxe diner, a popular hangout for Columbia's undergraduate population. It was decorated in the style of old '50s Americana, and as she entered its doors, she felt a pang of nostalgia for the P*lace, and all of the good memories she'd shared with him there. The diner was mostly deserted, so she chose a table in the back, near one of the windows, and pulled out a menu, opening it to the breakfast offerings. The words merely blurred on the page in front of her eyes, however, her stomach twisting into a sickening knot as she waited.

She had no sense of time passing. At one point, she noticed Ryan walking through the door of the diner. She looked down quickly, pretending to study the menu, trying to keep her heart from beating right out of her chest.

"Hey, Stace," he greeted her quietly, coming to a halt next to the table.

She looked up and almost immediately regretted it, feeling her inner anguish surge and threaten to overwhelm her. "Hey," she managed to reply.

He studied her for a moment, and she took the opportunity to do the same. He was dressed quite similarly to her – jeans and a t-shirt, with a sweater pulled hastily over it; his hair was slightly disheveled, and it was all she could do to resist reaching for him, to smooth the strands back in place.

"You didn't tell Renee that you were meeting me, did you?" he asked, sliding into the seat across from her.

"Why?" she asked curiously, swallowing her disappointment that he had moved even further out of her reach.

He shot her a rueful look. "Well, the last time she saw me, she threatened to separate my head from my shoulders."

Stacy snorted in spite of herself, reaching up to cover her mouth with her hand.

"I _wish_ it was a joke," Ryan said wryly. When she looked at him again, however, she realized that he was smiling. She chanced to smile back, and suddenly, they were both talking at once.

"You go first," she demurred, averting her eyes back to her menu.

"Okay," he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "First of all, I want to say that I'm not here to break up with you."

Stacy's shoulders sagged with relief, her eyes slipping shut momentarily. She was surprised when she felt his fingers brush against the back of her hand. She lifted her eyes to his, meeting his luminous emerald gaze.

"I thought that might get you to look me in the eye again," he mused. "Which is good, because – I want to apologize, too. I was a jerk, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things to you last weekend."

"I'm sorry, too," Stacy confessed in a rush. "I never should've asked you those questions. Your private life is private, and I shouldn't have pried."

"I don't know about that," he returned thoughtfully. "I mean, just because your timing sucks, doesn't mean that you don't have the right to know about my past." He paused. "So do you still want to know?"

"That depends," she said, letting her gaze fall to their hands. She turned her palm up and laced her fingers through his. "Do you still want me?"

He smiled, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes," he replied softly. "I've waited six months for you, and I don't mind waiting longer, if you're not ready. It was _your_ idea to set a date, and make this a 'thing'."

"I know," she responded. "I thought if we set a date, I could plan for it, and it would be perfect." She sighed. "Instead, all it did was make me even more insecure than I already was. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

He reached for her other hand, clasping it gently. "I knew you were anxious," he said. "I could tell the moment I met you that night. That's why I suggested we go to that bar. I really _don't_ go there that often," he hastened to add, "only when I want to get away from the campus…or when I want to sing." He shook his head. "I wasn't expecting to see Melissa there, and I _really_ wasn't expecting her to throw herself at me like that. I was flattered, but…I was on my way back to you."

Stacy flushed. "And I acted like a jealous bitch."

He squeezed her hands. "You acted like a girlfriend," he corrected her, "and I shouldn't have gotten mad." He smiled ruefully. "I get mean when I drink, which is why I don't drink that often."

Stacy smiled, turning his hands over in hers, caressing the backs of his fingers with her thumbs.

He heaved a sigh, his smile slipping away. "So do you want the truth?" he asked. "About Melissa?"

Stacy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, concentrating on the warm prickles of electricity that passed between their hands.

"We dated in high school," he continued after a moment. "Ever since that Sadie Hawkins's dance, in fact. I slept with her after the prom." He chuckled. "I know, I know, it sounds like a total cliché, but it wasn't anything that we'd planned. It just happened, you know? We were having a good time that night, and one thing led to another…"

She nodded again, ceasing the movements of her hands. It hurt to hear him say this, but it was a different sort of pain than what she'd felt before. He wasn't trying to wound her with his words now, but at the same time…she knew that he'd always have someone to compare her to. It was an advantage, however small, and it was something she'd have to learn how to deal with if she ever wanted to share this intimate side of him.

"That's the way it's always been with me," he continued quietly. "There have been others, but it's always happened naturally."

"Did you love them?" she inquired, not quite able to bring her eyes to meet his, even though she could feel him watching her intently.

He shrugged. "I think you have to love anyone to want to have sex with them – more than once, at least." He paused, sweeping his eyes toward the window, a thoughtful expression settling over his features. "So yeah – I loved them, once upon a time."

She chanced to look up then, her breath catching in the back of her throat when he gazed back at her, his dark green eyes as piercing as they had ever been. "I can tell you one thing for sure, though," he added, the wistful cast of his voice melting away, his grip on her hands tightening. "I never felt about any of them the way I feel about you."

Her eyes widened, and her heart began to thump heavily in her chest as the weight of his words settled over her – but he wasn't quite finished.

"If I'd had that fight with Melissa, or any of the others?" He shook his head. "That would've been it for me. But it's different, with you. You're worth fighting for. You're worth waiting for."

For the first time in a week, her lips curved up into a genuinely happy smile. "I love you," she said softly.

He smiled back. "I love you, too," he returned. "Now, please, let's never fight again."

Her grin widened as she leaned forward, only to feel the edge of the table cutting into her abdomen. She laughed, extracting herself from her side of the booth and circling around to his, twining her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him. His mouth was warm and welcome on hers, his lips soft and pliant and lingering. Their kisses were tentative and comforting, reestablishing something so special that was almost lost. She felt the hollow ache in her chest recede as his arms closed around her, drawing her body ever closer into his. Almost imperceptibly, she felt something within her shift; love and need and lust poured through her, racing along her nerves, settling deep in her abdomen. Their kisses deepened into something more heated and urgent and daring, and before she realized it, she was in his lap, pushing him back into the corner of the seat, raking her hands through his hair.

"Stacy," he whispered heavily against her lips.

"I'm ready," she replied in a rush, tracing her tongue along the line of his jaw before pressing a tiny, light kiss just below his ear.

He stilled her movements with a single caress, his hand finding her cheek, his thumb ghosting across its crest. His eyes searched her for a long moment, and she secretly thrilled over how dazed he appeared, even momentarily.

"Are you sure?" he questioned softly.

She nodded, allowing her eyes to fall to his lips. "You live across the street, right?"

"Right," he replied with a smile.

She looked up at him, her gaze emboldened and reckless. "Then let's go," she breathed, lowering her mouth to his.


	2. BONUS SCENE 1: Temptation

BONUS SCENE #1: Temptation

Rating: Y

Warning: Language, sexual situations

Word Count: 4,691

Summary: Two weeks prior to the events in _Secrets_. Stacy spends the night with Ryan under unexpected circumstances, and learns more about herself and her relationship than she bargained for.

* * *

><p>Ryan and Stacy pressed through the crowd of the still packed-out bar, grateful for the chance to breathe in the fresh, cool night air as they exited the building. "That's one thing about the theater guys," Ryan mused, drawing Stacy into his side as they squeezed past those still waiting to gain entrance. "They might not be able to act, but they can throw one hell of a party!"<p>

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm glad we decided to come, even though the play was – well…"

"Bad?" Ryan suggested.

Stacy nodded, a blush rising to her cheeks as she wrinkled her nose slightly at the memory. Student theater productions were always iffy, but this one was especially bad. The only reason they'd even gone was because Jason, Ryan's roommate, had a pretty hefty supporting role in the play. Stacy didn't think she'd ever experienced so much secondhand embarrassment, and one look at her boyfriend suggested Ryan felt the same way. They'd left the theater as soon as the show was over, but they weren't quite able to escape before Jason found them and invited them to the wrap party as his guests.

They'd been reluctant to go, but Jason was so excited – and gazed at them so pleadingly that Stacy began to suspect that he _had_ no other friends – that they quickly acquiesced. The party was held on the roof of the Heights Bar & Grill a couple of blocks from the theater, and it had certainly been an experience for Stacy. She'd been into the city countless times, but she'd never had a bird's eye view of Broadway at night before, all of the marquees lit up in full glory. It had been simply breathtaking.

Ryan tightened the brace of his arm around Stacy's shoulders, bringing her thoughts spiraling back down to the present. "So you had a good time?" he queried, glancing at her.

She smiled, burrowing closer into his side. "I always do when I'm with you," she replied happily. Her smile deepened, and she found herself unable to resist teasing him – "Even when you're a cheap date."

Ryan chuckled. "And yet, you love me in spite of my cheapness," he returned loftily. "How did I ever get so lucky?"

Stacy drew to a halt, closing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. _How did you get so lucky?_ she wondered silently. _More like – how did I?_ She breathed deeply, feeling herself melt into him as he returned the embrace, the arm at her shoulders drifting down over her back, his free hand brushing her hair from her brow, his thumb tracing the shell of her ear as his fingers swept past. Her eyes slipped shut as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple, the rest of the world falling away around them. For a moment, she reveled in the security and strength of this warm, close embrace, this powerful, intense way he made her feel, like she was the only person in the universe.

"Why can't we stay like this forever?" she sighed longingly.

"Well," he mused in response, the word reverberating through his chest and into hers, sending a delicious shiver racing down her spine. "I suppose eventually, we'd have to go to the bathroom."

Stacy groaned, pushing away from him and rolling her eyes, but she couldn't suppress her smile. His humorous remark broke the heady tension that had been building between them, and that was probably for the best, considering…

"Oh, shit," she breathed, glancing down at her watch. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit_!"

Ryan frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching for her hand.

"That _cannot_ be the time," she moaned.

He twisted her wrist slightly, bringing her watch up for a closer inspection. He furrowed his brow as he glanced back at her questioningly.

"I was supposed to be home two hours ago!" she burst out, breaking away from him. Her stomach sank. "My parents are going to kill me."

Ryan shook his head, still not understanding her sudden panic. "Why don't you just stay with your sister?"

"I _can't_ stay with Renee," she sighed. "Guests are only allowed to spend five days a month with a student on campus, and I've already used up my allotted time for this month!" She swallowed hard, still staring at her watch, wishing that she could simply _will_ time backward. "What am I going to do?"

Ryan clasped her shoulders. "Why don't you stay with me?" he suggested.

Stacy's heart stopped. Shock coursed through her, and she found she couldn't quite meet his gaze. "W-what?" she whispered.

"Look, it's late," he reasoned. "You probably shouldn't take the train alone at this time of night. And, well, _I _don't want to take you home and face your parents' wrath about you being late, _or_ you being out with me. So – why don't you just stay with me tonight, and go back first thing in the morning?"

She quickly considered her options. It was a no-win situation – she could risk life and limb taking the last train back to Brooklyn by herself (an idea that scared the shit out of her, even as a native New Yorker), only to come face-to-face with her parents, who'd probably never let her travel into the city alone again. Oh, they liked Ryan well enough, but they only grudgingly accepted the idea of their sixteen-year-old daughter dating a nineteen-year-old college student. The only reason she was allowed at all was because Renee was close enough to keep an eye on her. So, Ryan showing up on their doorstep at two o'clock in the morning with her in tow would not exactly endear him to her parents.

Then, there was Renee. Security at her sister's dorm was ridiculously tight, and they made exceptions for no one, which she'd already learned the hard way. As a guest, she had to sign in and out and leave her ID with the guard, who knew her on sight by now. It was hard enough skirting the five-days-a-month rule as it was, and she knew there was no way she could sneak in. That left –

"I promise I won't try anything," Ryan said, breaking into her thoughts. He cupped her cheek with one hand, lifting her chin to meet her gaze. "That is, of course, unless you want me to," he amended playfully.

She inhaled sharply as her eyes fell to his mouth. That was just it – Stacy wasn't sure she could trust herself to be around him and _not_ give in to temptation. Their attraction was so powerful that it scared her sometimes – and they had already grown very close in a relatively short amount of time. Still, she wasn't sure she was ready to take another step, especially not now, when she was already in so much trouble with her parents.

She swallowed hard, averting her eyes as a hot flush coated the back of her neck. "Won't your roommate mind?" she asked, hating the way her voice cracked at the end of the question.

He smoothed his hands across her shoulders in a soothing caress as he studied her. "We have a system," he replied with a smile.

"We-ell…" She hesitated, lifting her gaze back to his, only to find kind reassurance there. She bit her lip. "Okay."

He drew her into a light embrace, pressing another kiss to her temple. "Let's go," he directed softly, turning and leading her to the end of the block.

She clung to him as they crossed Broadway against the raucous sea of humanity flowing out of the theaters, trying to put her worry and hesitation out of her mind. She couldn't help but think of how much she would otherwise enjoy this impulsive decision to accompany him back to his dorm, if not for the fact that her parents were probably worried sick about her. She hated how guilty she suddenly felt, especially considering how magical the evening had turned out, dancing on the roof of a bar with her boyfriend under the bright lights of Broadway…

She was startled when he suddenly dropped her hand, only barely registering the fact that they'd made it back to his dorm when she realized he was digging into his pocket for his keys. They ducked into a side entrance of the building; almost immediately, he pulled her into a stairwell. Her heart raced as they climbed the stairs in silence, and it took her longer than it should have to figure out that he was sneaking her in. Emotions tumbled through her all at once: excitement, recklessness, trepidation, anticipation. Her breath was short in her lungs as they finally came to his floor; they stumbled out into the hallway, lit only by a dim overhead light.

The corridor was quiet as they headed for his room. Stacy couldn't decide if that meant his neighbors were out, or trying to sleep. She'd heard from her sister that McBain was the social center of the campus universe on the weekends, so it struck her as odd and eerie that it was stone silent, even though it was well after midnight.

She nearly collided with Ryan when he came to an abrupt halt in front of a corner door. "Here we are," he murmured under his breath. "Home sweet home."

He turned the lock and stepped inside, reaching back for her hand and guiding her into the pitch black room. Just as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, he switched on his desk lamp, illuminating the space in a soft, golden glow.

"Looks like we're alone," Ryan observed, glancing around, his eyes landing on his roommate's unkempt bed.

Stacy was looking around as well, and she couldn't get past how tiny the space was. The room was roughly the size of Renee's, and yet it was jam packed with furniture: two small desks, two narrow closets…two single beds. "Wow," she breathed nervously.

Ryan caught her attention when he crossed her path, reaching into his closet and extracting a bright red tie. She watched him curiously as he looped it around his neck and tied it loosely, only to pull it over his head and head back towards the door. "What's that?" she inquired.

"The system," he replied, slipping the tie over the knob on the outside of the door before closing it.

Stacy's eyes widened at the implication. "You don't have to do that," she yelped, pointing to the door.

"Relax," he assured her, pulling her into his arms. "All it means is that I don't want him coming back to the room tonight." He gazed her for a long moment, his dark green eyes intense as they bore into hers. "That's _all_ it means."

A blush stole across her cheeks. "I don't want your roommate to be homeless, just because I'm here," she sputtered.

"He won't mind," Ryan responded, "and it's only for the night. Besides, he owes me," he added with a playful smile. "I've spent more time on the sofa in the lounge than I have in my own bed this semester."

She relented, twining her arms around his neck, her eyes falling closed as his mouth found hers. True to form, the kiss was sweet and gentle, his lips warm and pliant on hers. He tightened the brace of his arms around her, his hands drifting up the planes of her back and into her hair, drawing her body into his, and she yielded to him without resistance. A curl of heat ignited in her abdomen as their kisses deepened, but try as she might to concentrate on all of the wonderful sensations flowing through her at his nearness, she couldn't quite push the niggling doubt and anxiety from her mind and lose herself in the moment.

She broke away, exhaling sharply. "I'm sorry," she whispered, shame washing through her as she pushed the words from her throat. She let him go, her eyes falling to the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

He cleared his throat. "It's okay," he replied heavily after a moment. "I, um, I think the first train leaves pretty early in the morning anyway, right?"

She nodded silently, biting her lip as tears of embarrassment welled behind her eyes. He was – and always had been – so gentle with her whenever they were intimate, never aggressive or pushy, which only made her feel even worse about disappointing him. She recognized this prime opportunity, and she knew he'd be kind and romantic wonderful, but she just couldn't. Not like this, with her mind clogged with worry and fear and apprehension.

He sensed her hesitation, reaching for to her, running his hand through her hair and pressing it behind her ear before cupping her cheek. "Really, Stace," he reiterated softly. "It's okay."

She chanced to glance up at him, and he nodded reassuringly, a slow smile curving his lips. Her heart hammered in her chest as he leaned forward, and she was nearly startled out of her skin when she heard the drawer behind her slide open.

"Do you want something else to wear?" he asked, directing her attention back to the drawer.

She flushed again, her embarrassment renewed as she glanced down at herself. She had given exactly zero thought to the fact that they would still be sleeping together that night, even if they didn't have sex. "I, um, well – " she stuttered, beginning to tremble nervously and hating herself for it. _He must think I'm a total baby_, she thought to herself.

But, mercifully, Ryan was paying her no heed, giving her his back when he turned to his desk. "I'll be back," he said, plucking up his toothbrush. "Take all the time you need, okay?" He didn't look at her before heading out of the room.

Stacy glanced up into the mirror attached to the bureau, cringing at the sad, scared reflection she saw there. _You_ are _a baby_, she admonished herself, kicking out of her shoes. _No wonder he left, if_ that's _what he had to deal with_. She suppressed her tears as she pushed the drawer closed. It was awkward enough as it was; she couldn't imagine how she'd feel if she wore his clothes to sleep in his bed. She glanced down at herself again, deciding she could make it through a couple of uncomfortable hours in jeans and a scoop-neck cotton shirt. She reached under her top, unhooking her bra and balling it in her hands as mortification washed through her.

How as she ever going to explain this to her parents? She kept clothes at Renee's, just for this very reason.

Before she could change her mind, she dropped her bra on the floor next to her shoes, switched off his desk lamp, and dove into his bed, burrowing under the covers and pressing herself as close and as flat against the wall as she could. Even though the room was dark, she squeezed her eyes shut, holding herself tense and quiet and still, wondering if she'd ever be able to calm her anxious thoughts enough to sleep.

Sometime later, she heard the door swing open again, the dim light from the hall pouring in momentarily. She clutched her hands to her chest, hoping it was her boyfriend but too scared to turn around and actually look. When his desk lamp illuminated again, she relaxed a bit, turning her face into the pillow to blot out the light as she listened to his final preparations for bed. He was quiet, perhaps thinking her already asleep; she could clearly make out the soft thud of his toothbrush falling to his desk, the rustle of his clothes as he changed, and the final click of the lamp as it was once again turned off.

Ryan sighed in the darkness, pulling back the sheets of the bed and climbing in beside her. Stacy's heart thumped heavily in her chest as she felt the mattress sink beneath his weight. His back was warm against hers, their shoulders almost touching. She curled into a ball on her side, clasping her arms around her knees, the denim of her jeans rough against her skin.

"Goodnight, Stacy," he whispered softly.

_Goodnight_, she thought, the word forming and dying on her lips.

.xxxxx.

Sunlight streamed, unfiltered, into the room, warming Stacy's face even before she opened her eyes. She breathed deeply, burrowing further into the bed, not yet ready to admit that her mind was rising to consciousness. She felt completely and totally relaxed, having had the best, most restful sleep she could ever remember. Slowly, she became aware of her body – she was lying on her side, her head tucked into the pillow, her legs long and lazy and tangled up in the sheets, the material of her jeans scratchy against her thighs. She felt incredibly warm, warmer than sleeping in her clothes or laying in sunlight would suggest, and finally, she opened her eyes.

For a moment, she stared at the blank white wall in front of her, confused and disoriented. Slowly, she became aware of the warm, solid weight of the arm draped around her, and the way her own arm lay over it, following the curve of the hand across her abdomen. She heard soft breathing from behind her, felt the rise and fall of a chest against her back, the warm cradle of hips nestled so intimately against her own. A little thrill of pleasure scored her spine as she glanced down, curling her fingers around her boyfriend's where he held her. She drew his hand up, over the valley between her breasts, and pressed a light, fleeting kiss to the backs of his fingers.

He sighed in his sleep.

Her lips curled up in a small, secret smile, and she tilted her head back, careful not to move so much that she'd wake him – she wanted to savor this rare, tranquil moment. His head rested in the curve of her shoulder, his mouth tantalizingly close, his breath whispering against her skin in a deep, regular rhythm. Her heart began to pick up speed as she gazed at him, loving the way his dark hair tumbled over his forehead, resisting the urge to reach out with her free hand and brush it back. She didn't think it possible to find him any more devastatingly gorgeous than she already did, but somehow, his features were even more breathtaking in repose – the soft line of his brow, the delicate crest of his cheekbones, the sculpted perfection of his mouth.

She shifted slightly, wanting to have a better look at him, but he resisted, tightening his hold on her and pressing his head further into the hollow of her shoulder, humming softly in protest. She smiled, pressing her hips back into his, earning another muffled groan. He furrowed his brow slightly, lifting his mouth to press a half-asleep kiss into the line of her neck, as if to reassure himself that she was still there.

Prickles of electric heat flowed from the spot where his lips met her skin, and she moved again, rotating her back until it was flat against the mattress. He stirred awake at that, opening his luminous emerald eyes and blinking rapidly, his expression melting into surprised pleasure when he realized that he was staring down at her.

She reached up, touching his face, brushing her fingertips across his cheek and into his hair near his temple. "Good morning," she greeted him softly.

His eyes were hooded as his gaze fell to her mouth. "Morning," he returned, leaning closer and capturing her mouth in a languid, sleepy kiss. His lips brushed against hers once, twice, three times before settling at a most pleasurable angle. She raked her hand through his hair before allowing her arm to drift down over his shoulder and across his back, catching in the folds of his undershirt.

He trailed a line of light, fiery kisses across the line of her jaw as she shifted again, flattening her hips and opening her legs to accommodate the weight of his body on hers. She clutched at his shirt, balling the soft fabric in her fists as his mouth continued along the column of her throat, pressing a kiss against her pulse point.

The look in his eyes was all-knowing as he lifted himself up slightly, far enough to pull his shirt over his head. "Your heart's racing," he surmised, leaning over her once more.

She could only nod dumbly, her eyes wide as she tried to take in the sight before her. She'd seen him without a shirt before, but never at this proximity, and never with such implicit permission to touch and explore. She didn't know where to begin, so he helped her out, taking one hand in both of his and pressing her palm flat against his chest. "So's mine," he confessed, and she could feel it, his heart beating against his ribs, almost in time with her own.

Her lips parted slightly as she tilted her chin up, eager to feel his mouth on hers once more. Their kisses turned bold, tinged with blossoming desire as she let her hands drift, roam, explore. She traced the lines of his chest with her fingertips, moving away from his heart and down to the solid cords of muscle at his torso, each constricting in time with her feathery light touch. Though his years of playing baseball where well behind him, he'd kept himself in shape, and her entire body began to tingle with anticipation.

His hands had drifted down into the sheets, stroking the backs of her thighs through her jeans, before catching at the last behind her knees. She exhaled sharply when she felt him urging her legs even further apart, digging her nails into his back as her muscles strained against her restrictive clothing. He groaned in protest, turning his face into the pillow beside her to muffle the noise, and settled his weight against her once more, tilting back against the wall and rolling over.

She swallowed a gasp of surprise, closing her eyes momentarily as her stomach took a slightly sickened turn at the sudden movement, and incrementally allowed herself to relax, trying to find the most comfortable position now that there was something between his mattress and her. After a moment, she opened her eyes once more; the first thing she noticed was a bright red tie, looped loosely over the corner of his headboard. She tensed, furrowing her brow as she stared at it, trying to place it in her memory. Her eyes widened suddenly, and she couldn't suppress her gasp as she whirled around to look at the other bed a few feet away.

"Shit!" she hissed furiously, wrapping the sheets around herself even though she was fully clothed, and maneuvering away from her boyfriend.

Ryan caught her before she could completely disentangle herself from him, and glanced at her, his expression full of concern. "What's wrong?" he whispered.

She pulled away from him. "You didn't tell me your roommate came back," she replied in a rush, flushing a dark red as she glanced over at the other, occupied bed.

Ryan glanced over as well, his eyes falling shut as he fell back against his pillow. "I didn't know he was there," he sighed.

Stacy pressed her back against the wall. "What about the system?" she questioned, nodding her head toward the tie.

He shrugged as best he could, considering he was flat on his back. "You told me it wasn't necessary last night, so I brought it in," he replied sheepishly. "I didn't know you'd be frisky this morning."

She flushed an even darker red. "Neither did I," she confessed, not quite able to meet his gaze. Instead, she glanced at his desk, wondering if he had an alarm clock anywhere. "I wonder what time is it?"

He grabbed her wrist, tugging her closer to him so that he could read the watch face. "Seven fifteen," he reported, ducking his head to find her eyes.

She smiled as their gazes locked, impulsively leaning close and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I wish I could stay longer," she whispered against his mouth.

"Why can't you?" he returned, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her near once more.

She kissed him again, reluctant to leave his embrace. "Parents," she reminded him with a sigh. "I really should go."

He nodded, looking resigned. "Okay," he acquiesced.

She smiled that secret smile again as she climbed over him, settling her feet to the floor. "Walk me to the station?" she asked, reaching for her discarded shoes.

His gaze lingered appreciatively on her back. "Of course," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair.

.xxxxx.

Twenty minutes later, they were at the subway station, standing on the nearly deserted platform as they waited for the next train to Brooklyn. Stacy leaned against Ryan, her arms wrapped securely around his waist, her head resting against his chest. They stood in companionable silence, each trying to process the events of the weekend – the play, the party, the twist and turn of events from that night to this morning – and Stacy found herself coming to one very important conclusion.

She was ready.

The revelation had stunned her into silence, but the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was. She'd felt none of the fear, anxiety, or trepidation that morning like she had the night before. Waking up in his arms had felt like the most natural thing in the world, and there was no thrill on earth quite like the way she felt when she was so close to him, kissing and touching and exploring, pushing boundaries she didn't even know she had set until now. Just as she'd anticipated, he'd been gentle and kind, if not particularly patient – though even then, he didn't push. What would've happened if his roommate hadn't been there? Would she still have stopped it?

…would she have wanted to?

"Penny for your thoughts," he murmured, brushing his fingers through her hair.

She looked up at him, really _looked_ at him, as if she was seeing him for the first time. "I was just thinking about this morning," she began tentatively.

His study sharpened at her words. "Yeah?" he mused, his tone decidedly neutral.

She nodded. "I didn't know that was going to happen," she continued slowly, searching his features for any hint of his own thoughts on the matter.

He considered his words carefully. "Are you sorry that it did?"

"No," she replied softly, reaching up to touch his face, tracing the crest of his cheek. "I trust you. It made me feel close to you."

He drew her ever closer, capturing her lips with his. "It made me feel close to you, too," he returned.

She smiled. "Close enough – to make me think…I'm ready," she finished, her gaze unwavering as she looked at him.

His features softened as he nodded. "Okay," he hedged. "Are you sure?"

She hesitated, pulling a deep breath into her lungs as she considered his question. She thought she was, but then, so much had happened in the last twelve hours. And besides, would she _ever_ feel really, totally, one hundred percent sure?

As she opened her mouth to respond, the overreaching sounds of the train pulling into the station assailed them, and they both glanced back, already seeing the headlight fill the tunnel. Other straggling morning travelers appeared in the corners of their eyes, clasping cups of coffee and newspapers.

Stacy turned back to Ryan, standing up on her tiptoes. "I love you," she said, directing her words straight into his ear, "and I want you to be my first."

His arms tightened around her. "When are you coming back?" he replied, raising his voice over the sound of the train's brakes squealing to a stop.

"Two weeks," she said firmly, tilting her face so that she could look at him again.

He smiled, kissing her one last time. "I'll see you in two weeks," he promised.


	3. BONUS SCENE 2: Fallout

BONUS SCENE #2: Fallout

Rating: T

Warning: Language, innuendo

Word Count: 3,763

Summary: A deleted scene from _Secrets_. Renee deals with the immediate aftermath of Ryan and Stacy's argument.

_Author's Note_: For KeB, on the occasion of your birthday – your _Secrets_ universe has finally come full circle! =)

* * *

><p>Renee sighed, shifting position in her chair as she gazed down at her story. She'd been working on it for the last few hours, but had barely put down three sentences that she deemed worthy of keeping. It was late; she'd long since changed into her pajamas and made herself a cup of hot tea, but her mind wasn't foggy with exhaustion. No, her attention wandered off with every quick glance at the clock, prickles of trepidation scoring her spine as she thought about her sister.<p>

She sighed again, pulling her glasses off and rubbing her hands over her face_. I wonder what she's doing right now_, she mused silently, before stifling a cynical snort. _Oh, who am I kidding? I wonder if she's doing_ it _right now._

It was hard not to worry, even just a little bit. Stacy was impetuous, to say the least – headstrong and stubborn; dreamy, yet reckless. She leapt from one impulsive decision to the next, whether it was what she was going to wear, how she was going to spend her money…or when she wanted to have sex with her boyfriend.

Renee sat back in her desk chair, picking up her tea and curling her fingers around the still-warm cup. She bit back a smile as she gazed around her room, taking in the damage wrought in the wake of Hurricane Stacy. She'd started to clean up the mess shortly after her sister's departure, but gave up after an hour and barely making a dent. Stacy didn't bring many things with her when she came to stay, but somehow, she'd managed to accumulate an entire wardrobe of clothes, which she'd torn through in a rampage that afternoon in her quest for the perfect outfit.

It was hard to ignore Stacy's countenance as she sailed out of the room earlier that evening. She had an inner glow about her, full of confidence and excitement and anticipation. It was an expression that had become very familiar over the last few months, much to Renee's displeasure. When Stacy had first begged to be allowed to visit her on campus, Renee had been naïve enough to believe it was because she wanted to strengthen their sisterly bond. They had been close as kids, but differing interests had drawn them apart as they grew older. Renee adored school; Stacy tolerated it, at best. Stacy could sit for hours, paging through 600-page fashion tomes; Renee had little use for trends or fads of any variety – she still quite happily wore cardigan sweaters and A-line skirts.

Renee hated seeing her sister drift away, and had jumped at the chance to find common ground again. It quickly became obvious, however, that it was an entirely different relationship Stacy truly wished to pursue.

Oh, she wasn't vindictive or insulting about it – that wasn't really in Stacy's nature. She always showed up at Renee's door with the best of intentions – to hang out, to gossip, to accompany Renee to the museums and the parks and the theaters in exchange for her sister's company while she shopped – but somehow, she always managed to be swept away by her boyfriend. He was increasingly monopolizing what little time she had during her visits, which Renee didn't appreciate one bit.

She also didn't appreciate finding out that the only reason Stacy was even allowed to date Ryan in the first place was because of _her_ presence on campus, as if she could keep an eye on them at all times. It was bad enough, feeling like she was losing her sister – no way was she going to be the third wheel on their lovey-dovey dates.

She sighed, taking a long sip of her tea as she turned back to her desk. Her eyes involuntarily flicked over to the clock, and her heart skipped a painful beat. It felt so strange, sitting there, as if their roles had been reversed: like _she_ was the younger sister, waiting and wondering and dying to know the details – what it felt like to be in love, in lust, to want sex and its accompanying emotional bonds.

Renee had had her share of dates over the years, but the only steady relationship she'd ever been in was in junior high school, back when kissing seemed scandalous. She remembered that feeling well – of falling head over heels, of being off on another planet, of that person becoming the center of the universe, around which everything else revolved. Even at thirteen, it was heady and intense and romantic; she could only imagine what it felt like with a couple of years of hormones thrown into the mix. She also remembered what it felt like to have her heart broken, shattered into a million pieces by a boy who'd lost interest but couldn't find a dignified way to tell her. Ever since that day, Renee had gone to great lengths to shield her heart from another bout of such sorrow; she'd made her peace with the fact that she didn't have much of a love life.

Or so she thought.

Watching her sister fall in love had unsettled some of Renee's notions about being single and happy. She'd noticed the way Ryan and Stacy looked at each other when they thought no one else was watching. She'd noticed the way they were always touching, the way it had started (with covertly holding hands when they thought no one was paying attention) and progressed (to her sitting on his lap whenever they were out with friends). She'd even caught them kissing once – not the shy, sweet kisses reminiscent of her own experience, but deeper, more intimate, and crackling with sexual tension.

It hadn't been that long since she'd inadvertently witnessed said scene, and Renee had been dreading this day ever since. Stacy was exploring uncharted territory now, moving out of Renee's realm of experience; there was no way to protect her feelings, or shield her from heartache, or give her advice about what would happen next. And Renee couldn't help but feel a little jealous: that her baby sister had put herself out there, found a guy to love (and love her back), someone whose intentions she trusted beyond a shadow of a doubt, someone she felt comfortable sharing every part of herself with.

It didn't feel fair – in fact, it made Renee feel like a failure of an older sister, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Somehow, she'd have to learn to live with the fact that the tables were turned, that her sister would gain such valuable knowledge and experience first, potentially with a multiyear head-start.

She tried to put her morose thoughts out of her mind, to turn back to the story she'd been struggling with for the last two weeks, but she couldn't concentrate – not when the clock was ticking so loudly, marking each second that passed, making her fret and worry and wonder. How long would it take? When was Stacy planning to come back? How in the world was she going to be able to sleep without knowing if her sister was safe?

A sharp rap on the door startled Renee from her thoughts, jostling the cup she still held, causing her tea to splash onto her notebook. She stifled a yelp when she heard the second, more insistent knock, shooting up out of her seat and crossing the room quickly. As she drew closer to the door, the knocking turned into anxious pounding, accompanied by muffled sobs.

"Please, Renee," came the pleading voice, "let me in!"

Renee's heart dropped to the lower reaches of her stomach as she wrenched the door open, only to have her sister fall into her arms, crying so hard she could barely breathe.

"Stacy!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her surprise and concern. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Her sister only sobbed harder, burying her face in Renee's shoulder and circling her arms around her waist.

Renee turned slightly, managing to close the door, before hugging her sister close. She held her for a long moment, until it seemed the worst of Stacy's tears had passed, before gently pulling away. She took her sister's hands, guiding her over to her bed, and quickly handed her a box of tissues as they sank down side-by-side.

"C'mon, sis," she cajoled softly, brushing Stacy's hair from her shoulder as her sister wiped her nose. "Tell me what happened."

Stacy's face, already splotchy from crying, flushed again; she buried her head in her hands and drew her knees to her chest, looking every inch like an upset little girl.

It was all Renee could do to contain her own rising tide of anxiety. She'd seen Stacy upset before, but never anything like this. Sobs racked her body, sounding deep and painful and world-ending. Whatever had happened, it was major – and, Renee surmised grimly, probably had something to do with Ryan.

She draped her arm across Stacy's shoulders, pulling the tissue box into her own lap, and slowly began to sway from side to side in a soothing rhythm. "Does this have something to do with your bastard of a boyfriend?" she mused aloud, trying to make her tone sound teasing and light. Normally, Stacy was very sensitive to the barbs Renee lobbed in Ryan's direction, never one to take any guff about their relationship.

This time, however, she merely nodded, the movement of her head almost imperceptible.

Renee's expression twisted into a scowl. "Insensitive jackass," she muttered, not bothering to hide her vindictiveness this time. "What did he say?" she pressed, after a moment. "What did he do? Where do I need to punch him to make sure he's hurting as much as you are?"

A tiny smile pulled at Stacy's mouth. She sat up, taking another tissue and wiping her eyes.

"Do you think I'm kidding?" Renee asked incredulously, feeling uncertain herself of the seriousness of her threat. _Nobody_ could hurt her baby sister this much and escape punishment, by her measure.

Stacy simply looked at her, giving a silent assessment of Renee's offer. Her breathing began to calm; the redness receded from her face, even as tears continued to trickle from the corners of her eyes.

"Okay," Renee relented, "I'm kidding! But please, Stace, tell me what's going on. I hate to see you so upset."

"I feel like such a fool," her sister muttered. "How could I have been so _stupid_?"

"I'm sure whatever happened wasn't your fault, Stace," Renee replied sharply, giving her sister's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Stacy simply shook her head. "So we went out, right?" she began. "And we were having a good time – until this girl shows up, and just – _drapes_ herself all over him." She exhaled sharply. "And the way she looked at him – the things she _said_ to him – I just – "

Renee laid her hand on her sister's back as Stacy tried to compose herself.

"I just knew – that they'd had sex," she finally choked out, stumbling over the words as if they were painful to pronounce. "So I asked him – I _demanded_ to know – " She sniffled, holding a shaking hand to her mouth as if she was going to be sick.

"Oh, Renee," she burbled, "he's _had sex_ – with all these _other girls_ – and I didn't know."

Renee felt her blood run cold. "You mean, since you two have been together?" she inquired archly, her protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

Stacy shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Before."

Renee slowly released her breath, feeling the impulse towards violence recede, and tried to grapple with the information Stacy had shared with her. She furrowed her brow. "I don't understand," she admitted. "Did he just tell you this? Out of the blue?"

Stacy shook her head again. "No," she murmured in response. "I practically had to drag it out of him. But why did he hide it from me in the first place?" she wailed.

"I was ready, Renee," she continued. "I was ready to share _all_ of myself with him – only to realize that maybe I don't really know him at all."

It was hard for Renee to counter the surge of sympathy she felt when Stacy finally met her gaze, but something niggled at her. "You mean – you two didn't discuss this _at all_ before tonight?" she asked carefully. "You had no idea of his history?"

Stacy shook her head, looking downcast. "I just never – even imagined…"

Renee pursed her lips as she regarded her sister. _He's nineteen years old_, she thought to herself. _How could she even think – _

And then it hit her, like a sack of bricks. _She'd_ made it to nineteen with her virginity intact.

Suddenly, Renee felt incredibly guilty.

"I hate the thought of him – being with other girls," Stacy ground out, oblivious to her sister's sudden silence. "I hate the thought of him touching anybody else the way he's touched me." She sniffled, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. "I hate the idea of him having all of this _experience_ – and having so many others to compare me to."

"Oh, Stacy," Renee sighed, hugging her sister close. "I hate that this has hurt you so much." She pulled away, brushing her sister's hair from her brow and tucking it behind her ear. She contemplated how to phrase her next thought, her heart thudding heavily in her chest.

"You know I'm not Ryan's biggest fan," she started tentatively, "and as much as I hate to admit it, he was right about one thing."

Stacy glanced at her, her eyes filmy with tears and full of questions.

"There's no way he could've answered your questions to your satisfaction," Renee explained gently. "Would you have preferred that he lie to you instead? I think he's a jerk, yes, but the _real_ jerk move here would've been telling you what you wanted to hear, just so that you'd have sex with him."

Stacy pulled out of her sister's grasp. "Who's side are you on, Renee?" she asked caustically, slumping into the armchair next to the bed. "I thought you said it wasn't my fault."

"And it isn't," Renee insisted. "You deserved to know about his past, and he should've told you about it, before tonight." She paused. "But you said it yourself – you had to 'drag' the information out of him. Would you rather have him lie to you, tell you that you were his first, too, only to find out the truth _after_ you'd slept with him?"

Stacy looked away swiftly. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she proclaimed, balling the tissue she held into her fist.

"Okay," Renee acquiesced, her tone neutral as she stood up. "It's been a long night, and I think that we can agree that you've been through hell. Listen, why don't you take the bed and get a good night's sleep? I think everything will seem a little more manageable in the morning."

"Forget it," Stacy mumbled, standing up and shedding her carefully pieced-together outfit with listless indifference. "I'll sleep on the floor like I always do." Her face clouded up as she dug around for her pajamas, but after a few moments, her expression cleared without tears.

Renee watched in silence as Stacy changed and dragged out her sleeping bag, spreading it on the floor between her desk and the bed. She settled in without another word, promptly closing her eyes and turning away from her sister's scrutiny. Renee studied her for a long moment before quietly stepping over her, retrieving her teacup from where she'd abandoned it on her desk. The tea that had splashed onto her notebook was dry now, along with the ink that had puddled at the bottom of the page, wiping away all of her hard work for the evening.

She turned with a sigh, quietly tiptoeing out of her room and down the hall to clean up. She'd made little headway with her story, but even less, it seemed, with her sister.

.xxxxx.

Renee awoke with a start, bolting upright when she realized that someone was knocking incessantly at her door. She forced her eyes open – and then immediately closed them against the piercing rays of the early morning sunshine.

"Ugh," she creaked, rubbing her face. When the insistent knocking didn't abate, she cast a sidelong glance at her alarm clock. "Who the hell is _voluntarily_ up at this hour?" she mused aloud, stumbling out of bed and yawning as she moved towards the door.

When she opened it and realized who was standing on the other side, her mood instantly worsened. "What do _you_ want?" she barked by way of greeting, finding absolutely no need for pleasantries.

Wry amusement washed over Ryan's expression. "Well, good morning to you, too, Mary Sunshine!" he replied with a sarcastic smile, before sobering. "Is Stacy here?"

Renee narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the doorknob. "Why do you want to know?"

Ryan arched a brow. "Because I want to talk to her," he responded, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

Renee shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea," she replied, taking a step back into the room and making a move to close the door.

"Well, _I_ do," Ryan returned, putting out one hand to prevent her from shutting it in his face. "That's how adults settle their disputes, and this isn't your problem, okay? You can't keep me from seeing her."

They stared at each other for a long moment, tension thick in the air.

Finally, Ryan looked away, pushing into the room and directing his attention beyond its gatekeeper. "Stace?" he called out. "Are you here?"

There was no response.

His eyes quickly swept over the room as he turned to face Renee once more. "Where did she go?" he inquired, sounding genuinely confused.

Renee huffed an irritated sigh. "Are you blind or something?" she muttered as she stalked over to her sister's sleeping bag – only to lift it up and realize it was empty, save for Stacy's pillows. Her heart skipped a beat. _Maybe she just went to the bathroom?_ she thought to herself. She turned to her closet, where her sister always stowed her purse and overnight bag. If they were missing…

"Oh, no," she murmured under her breath, her eyes pinned to the empty space just inside the closet door. "She _didn't_…!"

"What?" Ryan asked, sharply reminding Renee of his presence in her room. "Where did she go?"

Her irritation flared. "She _went home_, you jackass!" she responded caustically. "She left without even telling me." _Without even waking me up_, she amended silently, feeling her heart wrench in her chest. It was bad enough that Stacy had gone to bed angry – but now, apparently, she'd gone all the way back to Brooklyn, still nursing her upset.

Renee slowly eased the closet door back into its frame and turned to face her sister's boyfriend. Suddenly, she felt nothing but righteous anger towards him, and it was all she could do to keep herself from forcibly removing him from her presence. "This is all your fault," she seethed, balling her hands into fists at her sides.

"_My_ fault?" Ryan countered incredulously. "_I'm_ not the one she left this morning, without so much as a word."

"Maybe not, but _you're_ the one who drove her away!" Renee burst out, unable to stop herself from advancing on him. "_You're_ the one who broke her heart, because _you're_ the one who wasn't honest with her!" She came to an abrupt halt two steps away from him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, as if to prove to him her level of restraint. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll get out of my room. Right now," she added in a low, angry tone.

Ryan scowled as he regarded her threatening stance. "Look, I didn't come here to be insulted – not by you, at least," he shot back.

"You're vile," Renee declared with a disgusted shake of her head. "I don't know what my sister ever saw in you, but obviously, she's come to her senses now. So why don't you just leave her alone?"

"You can't tell me what to do, Renee," Ryan returned, planting his hands on his hips. "Last time I checked, this was between me and Stacy. It's really none of your business."

"Until my sister _made it_ my business," she snapped. "She was crying so hard by the time she made it back here last night that she could barely speak."

Was it just her imagination, or did he suddenly seem to pale at that little revelation?

Renee decided to find out. "Why _the hell_ do you think that she'd have anything to say to you now?" she pushed.

Ryan's eyes fell closed. "She might not," he replied quietly, his posture still just as full of steely determination as hers, "but I have something to say to her."

Renee could only shake her head. "You're such a callous, selfish jerk," she declared with a disbelieving sigh. "Stacy's better off without you."

Ryan simply shrugged, relaxing his defense stance. "That's what you've always wanted, isn't it?" he murmured, the judgmental cut of his tone ringing crystal clear in her ears. "You haven't been happy since the day we started dating."

She glowered at him. "What I _want_," she hissed menacingly, "is for you to get out of my room, before _I_ do something that _you'll_ regret."

Somehow, he found the audacity to smirk at her, which only served to further fuel her hostility. "You don't scare me, Renee," he declared smoothly, holding her gaze for a long, exacting moment before turning and flinging a dismissive wave over his shoulder. "Have a pleasant day."

Renee was fast on his heels as he sauntered out of the room. _Good riddance_, she thought, watching his form disappear around the corner. _I just hope that when you do finally speak with my sister, it's because she's found the sense to drop you for good!_


End file.
